


The Cupboard Conundrum

by rainbowjaeger



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Domestic, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Height Differences, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 16:58:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13058262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbowjaeger/pseuds/rainbowjaeger
Summary: Happy holidays everybody! This fic isn't specifically holiday-themed, but I still wanna wish you all happy holidays.





	The Cupboard Conundrum

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dearxalchemist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearxalchemist/gifts).



> Happy holidays everybody! This fic isn't specifically holiday-themed, but I still wanna wish you all happy holidays.

Gaby wasn’t a very tall person. She knew this, she was at peace with it. She didn’t mind. She was only a centimeter or two below average, after all. She just felt so small because her partners happened to be huge.

So when she started furnishing her new apartment in the center of London (courtesy of Waverly), she didn’t need a big couch or a big shower or any of that. The cupboards were already installed, though, and she could only reach the bottom of the two shelves. It wasn’t a problem, really. She didn’t have much to store anyway, so she could just put it on the bottom shelf.

Or, so she thought.

Since Gaby was the first of the team to get herself a place in London, she often came home to find either of the boys in her (her!) apartment. 

She didn’t appreciate the sentiment in the least. The first time she encountered the two men in her apartment, she had started yelling at them to leave. It had been less than a year since she had left East Berlin and the memory of Stasi banging on her neighbor’s door hadn’t faded. She was always convinced they would come for her next, that they had found out her connection to Waverly or something else incriminating. She was sure they would make something up, as they always did.

Both men were shocked by her reaction, but only Solo took it lightly. With his hands raised in the air submissively, he left. Illya stood there for a moment, only halfway done with his bug sweep, before realizing he wouldn’t be able to calm her down now, and followed Solo. It had taken her two months before she felt safe enough to invite them to her apartment. She’d given them a stern talking to after the incident, and they both apologized profusely. Solo had no idea she still felt like that. Illya, on the other hand, kept blaming himself, that he should’ve known. She was sure he still hadn’t forgiven himself, as he hesitated to step into her home.

“Would you like anything to drink?” Gaby asked, ever the good host.

“I’m sure you’ve got something strong stocked away somewhere,” Solo called from the living room, even though the space between the living room and kitchen was so minimal he didn’t have to call out at all. He unbuttoned his jacket and took a seat on the couch. Gaby couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the usually unruffled American almost disappearing into her couch. The resigned look on his face meant that he realized he probably wouldn’t be able to get out unassisted.

“Tea is fine,” Illya answered, opting for the chair next to the couch after witnessing Solo’s miraculous disappearance.

Gaby returned a few minutes later with a tumbler of scotch and two cups of tea. She eyed the cups for a minute and then set one down in front of Illya. He took a sip and made a face. “Is spiked.”

“Whoops, switched them up,” Gaby admitted, not sounding very guilty at all. Solo was quite sure that she was the only person on the planet to mess with Illya and not get punched in the face for it. He was sure Gaby knew this too, and took full advantage of it. Honestly, he couldn’t blame her. 

They got to business, discussing the mission at hand.

 

-

 

They had stayed until late, the alcohol making both Gaby and Solo giddy. At some point she’d put on a record and insisted on teaching her boys a basic waltz – for cover purposes, of course. First up was Solo, who’d only learned some clumsy steps here and there. She assumed this was since he usually paid more attention to the pretty faces and pretty jewelry at parties, rather than the dance steps. This night, he also finally found out why his covers of rich and cultured men were so often blown. It seemed the upper class put a lot of stock in their ability to dance a proper waltz. Light with his hands he may be, his feet were a different story. He was a fast learner, however, and by the end of the night, Solo managed to sweep Gaby across the room like there was no tomorrow.

Illya was a different story. He flat out refused at first, as they both had expected. But they had somehow managed to get some alcohol into him (the fact that they had the next day off helped, since that meant he had no mission or his near-flawless track record to worry about), and after three or so glasses of scotch, he’d relented. Like Solo, he had little experience. Unlike the American, he wasn’t an expert at the end of the night, but he had made progress. Thankfully, Solo took mercy on them and didn’t make any comments on their proximity by the end of the evening. 

 

-

 

Gaby woke up with a hangover that made her regret those last two or three glasses of… she can’t remember what she ended with, wine or vodka or something else.

Thankfully, she discovered as she entered the small kitchen, the boys had washed the dishes so she could make a fresh cup of coffee the next morning. She opened the cupboard to grab a mug, only to grab thin air.

They had put the cups and mugs on the top shelf.

Damn them.

Since no coffee wasn’t an option, Gaby’s best option was to climb. With her bare knees on the cold countertop and her socked feet dangling off the edge, she grabbed one of the mugs. Her dismount, however, was less than graceful, as she lost her balance and ended up on her back on the floor. Her shins hit the bottom of the counter and she cursed. That would probably leave a bruise, which would, in turn, cause a thorough interrogation by Illya as to how she got it. 

Sighing, Gaby got to her feet and went to make her cup of coffee.

 

\- 

 

It had become somewhat of a habit, hanging out at Gaby’s place on their evenings off. She supposed she should feel flattered that they liked her apartment more than their own places, and she didn’t mind the company either, so it became their ritual. After a while, their guards would be sufficiently down so that they occasionally fell asleep on the couch. 

After one of those occasions, Gaby decided not to disturb them (save for the blankets she would drape over their shoulders on cold nights) and went to bed herself.  

By the time she awoke, Solo had already left the premises and Illya was just starting to wake. She didn’t know he could actually sleep in. She just assumed he snapped awake at 6 AM sharp to go for a morning run or something. She wondered if this meant he felt safe enough in her apartment to: 1. Blatantly fall asleep on her favorite chair, and 2. Sleep in. She hoped so.

Solo had, at least, washed out the cups, but lo and behold – they were out of Gaby’s reach again. She cursed silently, so as not to wake up her… colleague? No, that was too distant. Friend? Not close enough. Lover? No, too close. Something in-between, perhaps.

Her train of thought was derailed by the man in question standing right behind her. 

Too close.

He stood too close.

He must’ve not been fully awake yet, because the concept of personal space did not seem to exist to him. Illya reached over her, trapping her between the countertop and himself, to grab two mugs from the top shelf. 

“Good morning, Chop Shop Girl,” he said. He busied himself with making coffee while Gaby busied herself with studying the countertop, caught entirely by surprise. 

When she looked up, she realized that the version of Illya before her was a rare one; his hair was mussed, and he’d taken off his turtleneck somewhere last night and was now walking around in a white shirt and pants. She didn’t mind this version. If anything, she preferred it. His sharp edges were mostly replaced by rounded, softer shapes. The curve of his slouched shoulders, his lazy walk. The Illya before her and the Illya on missions seemed entirely different people. 

As they sat in silence in the living room, sipping on their coffee, normal Illya came back a bit. Thankfully, his complete stoicism and carefully blank look hadn’t returned. 

“So this is why you put everything on bottom shelf. It seems I owe Cowboy ten pounds.” 

“You two bet on me?” She set down her mug with more force than intended. A bit of coffee splashed over the edge and onto the tabletop. 

“Cowboy said, you put everything on bottom shelf because you cannot reach. I said, it is because you do not have many things to fill cabinets with.” 

He wasn’t entirely wrong. Though Gaby embraced the West’s consumerism, she never felt the need to have many possessions. Perhaps it was the Ossi in her, perhaps it was because she was afraid she would have to pack everything up and leave one day. She was a spy after all. It was a miracle Waverly had given her such a nice, permanent address in the first place. 

“A bit of both, I guess,” she admitted, unwilling to hand either of them a victory. 

 

-

 

Gaby hadn’t really realized it, so Solo was the one to point it out to her.

Through some miracle (which Solo simply called his matchmaking skills), Illya and Gaby had ended up together and were nearing the two-month mark soon. It had become common practice for Illya to forgo his own apartment to stay with Gaby, and over time, most of his belongings – which weren’t a lot – had moved to Gaby’s place. 

“Look at you, Gabs, using both shelves. Late growth spurt?” Napoleon teased her when making coffee for the three of them.

Gaby and Illya looked at each other before facing Napoleon. Illya’s scowl had softened over the past few months, but he could still manage an impressive one whenever Solo made a remark.

Gaby simply smiled. “Something like that.”


End file.
